The 76th Hunger Games
by Firing Rockets on Dragons
Summary: Haymitch and Effie discussed the possibility of another Hunger Games.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters

Title: the 76th Hunger Games

Rating: T

Summary: Haymitch and Effie talk about the possibility of the 76th Hunger Games.

Prompt: #17 The game

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Effie stood by the window of her apartment with crossed arms. An unclear image of herself bounced back from the night, showing the lines on her pale face, the crease on her brow, and the frown that her mouth had formed. She felt her heart crack with each word he spoke, her azure eyes stung with unshed tears. She had never felt more disappointed in her life.

Haymitch paused and took a minute to observe the change in her appearance. The pretentious smile had long faded from her lips; disillusionment, repulsion, and gloom floated over her like a raincloud. He had anticipated this kind of reaction. He did not expect her to understand because she never knew the kind of pain the victors had.

"It would just be the same games," he reasoned, "much better than the eradication of everyone who holds Capitol citizenship."

She turned to face him. Her periwinkle robe – a modest number, with its long silk fabric reaching down to her ankles – shifted with each movement, rippling with grace as she walked closer to him, its long sleeves, which covered her healing arms, gently caressed her skin as they moved in her rhythm. The soles of her bare feet were tickled by the furry white carpet on the floor. But while her clothing made her appear like a delicate flower, the darkness that clouded her lovely blue eyes revealed the wreck she had become.

"It's not just _'the same games,' _Haymitch," she said, "It is different when you give people a spark of hope, and then take it away. On a yearly basis, twenty-three innocent lives will still be lost, and your victors will still be left in an irreparable mess. Is it not enough that hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of children had died in that explosion? It will ruin everything you people had worked for. Will you risk losing the faith of those who believed in the cause just so that you could continue glorifying this horrible tradition?"

Haymitch shifted in his seat, away from the pale yellow light of the lamp that illuminated the otherwise dark room. He was the only thing that did not seem to belong in Effie's apartment. Everything in there was posh and expensive, her mahogany tables and shelves – filled with expensive books about fashion, etiquette, and empowered women – her velvet couch. They contradicted with the white long-sleeved shirt, khaki jacket, and dirty brown corduroy pants he wore. His boots were left near the door and he sat there in his coffee-colored socks. Everything about him still hinted at his involvement with the rebellion. He ran a jaundiced hand over his coarse dark hair in exasperation. Everything became harder to explain when the escort finally grew some brains.

"Apparently not, princess," he said, "that's why the continuation of the Hunger Games is being considered; because majority of the victors were not satisfied with mere freedom. Revenge must be exacted."

Her laugh sounded bitter. She walked to and fro, her blonde tresses bouncing slightly as she went. She imagined Haymitch giddily walking in front of two children, leading them to the slaughter, and shuddered. That's what she did for a living, before everything fell apart. For years, she had been the villain, introducing children to the luxuries of life right before their death. Before, all she held onto was an abstract idea, a thought. She watched those whose lives were changed by the Games and found that none of them turned out happy. She wondered why. But now that the children of her city faced the possibility of slaughter, something ate at her and for the first time, she truly understood why it was wrong. Now their roles were reversed. He was the villain and she was the one desperately begging to spare the innocents from the whirlwind of chaos that had engulfed them all.

"But isn't this what you people had been fighting for?" she asked, her voice was hoarse, "the eradication of oppression?"

Haymitch thought about it. Why did he say _'yes'_ to the Hunger Games? It seemed unwise for a grown man to allow himself to be consumed by a longstanding hatred he had for the Capitol. He was the last to vote, the tie-breaker; he could have voted _'no'_ and they would not be having this conversation. Instead, he took one look at the grief-stricken Mockingjay and felt like she deserved to get what she wanted – regardless if she knew what she really wanted at the moment. The girl did not care about eradicating oppression the way Peeta and Annie did. She did not care about what the people would say about their party, like Beetee did; she just wanted to be free. And the mentor would be lying if he said that he cared about things like equality and reputation. He wasn't a noble man; freedom was his priority, too. Although he wondered if watching a bunch of weaklings die would feel liberating.

"No, princess," he said, "we were fighting for our freedom."

The escort wondered about freedom. What was freedom to the victims, anyway? Was it not enough to be liberated from the clutches of a pitiless government? Did it have to include cruelty on their part, as well? Do they have to get even; do they have to rule with coercion? The country ran in blood and hatred, a dangerous mix that did not permit unity amongst its people. If freedom, to them, is living the way the Capitolians did, then it isn't true freedom; those people were shackled by manacles of unawareness, celebrating bloodlust, just like she was. But hatred could never be underestimated, it was the driving force that led to the rebellion, it must have been the same thing that drove them to cast their vote against her people. She feared that this time around, people will be bound by loathing; something even worse than ignorance; for an ignorant man has a chance to see the light, but those who dwell in scorn refuses it. She found that she could not blame Katniss; her wounds were too fresh; the pain still burned in her skin and memory. But Haymitch who was old enough to know better, whose feelings were long submerged by the liquor he liberally swallowed, why would he agree to it? The answer was in his monotonous gray eyes. There was no burning hatred in there, just a tiny hint of indifference.

"You did it for Katniss, didn't you?" it finally dawned on her, "you said _'yes' _because you wanted to support her. You're an adult, Haymitch. You should have known better. It will only fuel her hatred; watching those Capitol children die year after year, in an arena that was crafted by your own imagination."

Haymitch was getting tired of explaining. He knew that she would not understand the complexity of their emotions. No, their emotions were nothing complex; they were painfully simple. It was their thoughtlessness that made it all so difficult to explain. How would he explain to someone who whole-heartedly believed in change and freedom the simplicity of the unforgiving contempt that burned inside those who agreed without hesitation? How would he tell her that they simply did not care about what it would do to their country in the long run; that they just wanted to let their destructive feelings run loose? All he wanted was for his nightmares to disappear, but that was unlikely. He wondered if Capitolian blood would wash away the District blood that stained his hands. He doubted that.

"Listen," he finally spoke, "if it will make you feel better, there is no reassurance that the Hunger Games will ever happen. Coin was the one who planned the whole show, and she's dead, sweetheart. Katniss ended her."

But Coin's death did not give Effie comfort. A horrible thought nagged her. The tables have turned, but the game will still be the same. She thought about the younger generations, those who would read about the gory history of Panem, and the innocent questions they would ask. _'Why do we still have the Hunger Games, then?' _or _'why did they do the same things, didn't they have the originality?'_ Those questions would not mean anything to them, but when they grow old and see the world, they would realize that the new regime was just as bad, that is, if their minds would not be fed with ignorance just like hers was. She got tired of walking around in circles. She grew weary of the notion of the Hunger Games being a permanent part of their glorious tradition. What a joke. She sat down on the velvet couch, right beside Haymitch. Their eyes met.

"Will you enjoy it?" she asked.

Haymitch studied the escort's eyes, and there was a tiny glint of hope in those endless pools of blue. He knew what she was hoping for. She was hoping that he would say _'no,'_ but he would be lying if he gave her the answer she wanted. He did not know how he'd feel if the Games were to continue.

"I don't know," he said, "but this time, we get to plan the games and they get to experience it first-hand. It could be a refreshing change of scenery."

He tried to smirk, but it looked more like a grimace. She did nothing to hide her repulsion.

"You're wicked animals, the lot of you." She spat the words out, the ember in her eyes dying.

He looked away when any hint of hope finally disappeared from her eyes. He swallowed a lump on his throat and wished that he was holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"Animals we are, princess."

And animals played wicked games.

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A/N: As we all know, the Hunger Games never happened again. Paylor made sure of that. This was set right after Coin was killed, so there was still no certainty if the Hunger Games would continue.


End file.
